the grey remains of a friendship scarred
More comment fics, both too long for actual comments. I repost them here to make it easier for myself, but you can read them if you're bored:
Can you believe someone requested The Pact fic? I was so excited I misremembered the name of the FBI agent!
Ever since Spence got back to New York, each day has been exactly the same as the one before. There's no break in the endless stream of pretrial depositions, where he sits in the same room and repeats the same story over and over again for the same people. The only change is in the tension level in the room, which goes up a little with each day they get closer to trial. It's gotten to the point where the only thing Spence looks forward to is this: the single hour he's allowed out of his room to burn off a little nervous energy in the hotel gym.
There's a pool, but he hasn't been in the water since Lenny, and just the thought still fills him with a crawling anxiousness he doesn't like to think about. So he hits the gym instead, punching the cracked bag hanging in one corner while an FBI agent stands outside each entrance in case a mobster manages to get past the pack of FBI agents stationed all over the hotel lobby. Sometimes Spence thinks it's kind of funny that he has his own security detail, like he's somebody important.
But the truth is there's no one who cares about him beyond what he can tell a judge about how his parents died. Nobody but Lenny, and Spence hasn't seen him since the day Carver drove him back to New York. When they pulled him out of school and stuck him in protective custody he hoped it meant he'd at least get to see Lenny again, just to see if he was okay, but so far there's been no sign of him, and whenever Spence asks, Carver always changes the subject.
Spence hits the bag a little harder, wincing at the impact and swinging with his other arm. He doesn't hear anybody come into the room, but a throat clears behind him and all this being followed around by guys in suits must be getting to him, because he jumps about a mile at the sound.
"You're pulling your punches," the person behind him says, and Spence's heart skips a beat, because he knows that voice. He turns around slowly, dropping his arms to his sides and blinking to make sure he's not just hallucinating. But Lenny's really standing there, hands in his pockets and looking a little...nervous, maybe. His hair's shorter than it was the last time Spence saw him, and he reaches up to run a hand through it while he lets Spence look at him. "When you swing at the bag, you're not hitting it as hard as you can. You pull up instead of following through. If you do that in a fight you're gonna lose."
And he's grinning, but Spence can tell how nervous he is. His own stomach's fluttering like he swallowed a whole swarm of butterflies, so he knows the feeling. Then Lenny takes a few steps forward and the fluttering gets so bad he's sure Lenny will hear it. "I can show you, if you want."
Spence is nodding like an idiot, not so much because he cares about his boxing form, but because it's Lenny and he's here, somehow, and the truth is that Spence was starting to think he was dead. But he's alive, and he's standing in front of Spence holding his hands up in front of him. "Hit me," he says, nodding toward his palm. "As hard as you can."
"Hit you?"
"Yeah," Lenny says, and this has to be the weirdest reunion in history, because they haven't seen each other in three months, and so far neither of them has even said 'hi'. "I owe you at least one free shot, right?"
"No," Spence answers, shaking his head because Lenny took a bullet for him, and as far as Spence is concerned, they're even. "You don't," he adds, and then he's moving forward, pushing Lenny's hands out of the way to wrap his arms around Lenny's shoulders. It takes a second or two for Lenny to catch up with him, but before long arms slide around Spence's back to pull him even closer. And it's the first time he's ever hugged Lenny, but it feels so right that he wonders why they didn't do it a long time ago.
"Where have you been?" Spence asks, whispering the question into Lenny's hair. "I kept asking Carver, but he wouldn't talk. I thought..."
His arms tighten reflexively around Lenny, and he half expects Lenny to push him away and call him a fag, but he doesn't. Instead he hugs Spence even closer, face turned into his neck so that when he answers, Spence can feel the words against his skin.
"They stuck me in juvie for awhile, but the guys who killed your parents found out I was there, so Carver shipped me to a safehouse in Florida. I just got back tonight."
Spence does pull back then to look at Lenny, reaching up to run a hand over Lenny's short hair. And he knows he's being kind of a girl, but he doesn't even care if Lenny laughs at him. "How'd you get in here? Those goons outside..."
"I told Carver I wasn't testifying unless he let me see you. I guess he figures you're safe with me, more or less." Lenny grins, some of the old mischief back in his eyes and it makes Spence's heart skip a beat.
"I'll take my chances," Spence says, swaying a little closer to Lenny. When Lenny doesn't tense or push him away Spence leans in, tilting his head to one side like they do in the movies. Because he doesn't actually know what he's doing or anything, but he knows how he feels, and he figures Lenny will help him figure out the rest. Except their lips barely brush together before Lenny's pulling back, hands on Spence's shoulders to hold him just out of reach.
"I think you should know I'm two years older than you," Lenny says, watching Spence for a reaction, like it matters how old he is. There could be ten years between them and Spence wouldn't care, but the truth is Carver already told him all this stuff anyway. He got the impression at the time that Carver was trying to save him from himself or something, but Spence knows what he's getting into. Well, okay, he doesn't, really, but he knows what he's already lost, and he's not giving up Lenny too.
"My name's not really Spence," he says, grinning when Lenny laughs.
"I'm a high school dropout."
"So you'll get your GED."
"The prison shrink says I have anger management issues," Lenny says, and Spence wants to ask how long they made him see a shrink, or maybe what it was like in juvie, but more than anything he wants Lenny to shut up and kiss him.
"I have post traumatic stress disorder," he counters, which probably isn't actually true, but it's all just a bunch of psychobabble anyway.
"I really missed you," Lenny answers, his grip on Spence's shoulders loosening, and Spence takes the opportunity to sway forward again.
"Good," he whispers against Lenny's mouth, and this time Lenny leans into the kiss.
~
They share a hotel room pretty much every time the team travels, but it's not often they get to enjoy it. Not that the rooms they usually stay in are worth enjoying, but every once in awhile they get lucky. This one's not much to write home about; the beds aren't all that comfortable, and squeezing into a double together when they could be sharing a king if his father wasn't such a prude is always a little depressing. There's no view to speak of, unless you have a thing for brick, and he's pretty sure the wallpaper is going to give him a seizure. But the bathroom...that's a different story. Not that there's anything particularly nice about it, but the bathtub's huge, and there's a bottle of bubble bath left behind by some past guest just sitting on the edge, beckoning him.
It's been a long, exhausting day, the kind where Dorna stays one step ahead of them the whole time and they almost get themselves killed for nothing. Which wasn't Nikko's fault, for once, so at least Cal's not mad at him. What he is is dead on his feet, and Nikko lets him sprawl fully clothed on the bed while he heads to the bathroom to draw a bath.
He lets the water run until it's as hot as he can stand, then puts the stopper in the tub and watches it start to fill up. He tilts the bottle of bubble bath under the faucet, pouring way more than the recommended capful. Which, come on, is never enough for a decent amount of bubbles, so he's not sure who's making these recommendations. Not a bath connoisseur, that much is obvious.
When the tub's half full of foamy water he heads back to the bedroom, kicking off his shoes and tugging his t-shirt over his head before he stops next to the bed where Cal's sprawled. "Hey," he says, reaching out to push unruly hair off Cal's forehead. "Come on, I know exactly what you need."
"Can't," Cal mumbles, but he's not asleep yet, so that's a victory already. "I'm too beat to move."
"Trust me, it'll be worth it," Nikko says, but he lets Cal stay put long enough to move to the end of the bed and pull off his shoes. He tugs Cal's socks off next, then reaches for the button of his jeans.
"Nikko, seriously, I can't," Cal says, eyes open now to look up at him. His hands come down to cover Nikko's, pulling them gently away from his jeans. "I'm too tired to get it up, man."
Nikko smiles at that, thinks about making a crack about Cal's age, but decides against it. "No sex," he says instead, leaning over Cal to plant a chaste kiss on his lips. "Trust me, you'll like this. And you don't have to do anything but take off your clothes."
Cal grumbles some more when Nikko pulls him off the bed, but when they reach the bathroom and he sees what Nikko has in mind, he lets Nikko undress them both. When he's naked he climbs over the edge of the tub, hissing as the almost too-hot water touches his skin and sinking down until he's covered by a mountain of bubbles.
"What'd you do, use the whole bottle?" he says, but his eyes are already closed and he's leaning back against the warm porcelain. Nikko grins at the sight and unbuttons his pants, kicking them off before he slides his boxers down to join them. And he's not too tired to get it up, but he's willing to ignore his own need if it means helping Cal feel a little better.
"Sit up," he demands, nudging Cal forward until there's enough space for Nikko to slide in behind him. As soon as he's in the water Cal leans back against him, back pressed against Nikko's chest and his hair tickling Nikko's chin. Nikko grins and wraps his arms around Cal's chest, fingers moving in slow circles on wet skin.
"See?" he says when Cal shifts against him, letting out a contented little sigh. "Much better than passing out in your clothes."
"Mmm," Cal hums, lifting one hand to slide it along Nikko's arm where it's resting against his chest. "We should really do this more often."
They both know why they don't; there's the time problem, for one thing, and the fact that they're usually too busy trying not to get killed to worry about romance. But it's worth the effort, and Nikko makes a mental note to try a little harder from now on. They might have fifty more years, or they might only have a few before the world comes crashing down around them. They still haven't worked out what 'End of Days' means, exactly, and they're not taking for granted that they'll figure it out before it's too late. But either way, they've got the rest of their lives together, and Nikko's not going to waste a second of it.
"Yeah," he says, leaning in to press a kiss to the top of Cal's shoulder. "We should."
~
At the end of the world, I am still a hopeless romantic. Pathetic. I am blaming the approach of Valentine's Day on the level of sap in these, but the truth is that's just how I roll. Like you didn't know that already.
Speaking of comment fics, I think I am going to take a break from the rest of those requests and write some other stuff that's rattling around in my head. I thank you kindly for the help in getting me over my little block, though, and if you really had your heart set on something you can feel free to nudge me about it.
ETA: This has been the most boring day EVER. What's up with that, friends list? And I'm probably going to die in a tornado on my way home, if 5:00 ever gets here, which I am starting to doubt.
Can you believe someone requested The Pact fic? I was so excited I misremembered the name of the FBI agent!
Ever since Spence got back to New York, each day has been exactly the same as the one before. There's no break in the endless stream of pretrial depositions, where he sits in the same room and repeats the same story over and over again for the same people. The only change is in the tension level in the room, which goes up a little with each day they get closer to trial. It's gotten to the point where the only thing Spence looks forward to is this: the single hour he's allowed out of his room to burn off a little nervous energy in the hotel gym.
There's a pool, but he hasn't been in the water since Lenny, and just the thought still fills him with a crawling anxiousness he doesn't like to think about. So he hits the gym instead, punching the cracked bag hanging in one corner while an FBI agent stands outside each entrance in case a mobster manages to get past the pack of FBI agents stationed all over the hotel lobby. Sometimes Spence thinks it's kind of funny that he has his own security detail, like he's somebody important.
But the truth is there's no one who cares about him beyond what he can tell a judge about how his parents died. Nobody but Lenny, and Spence hasn't seen him since the day Carver drove him back to New York. When they pulled him out of school and stuck him in protective custody he hoped it meant he'd at least get to see Lenny again, just to see if he was okay, but so far there's been no sign of him, and whenever Spence asks, Carver always changes the subject.
Spence hits the bag a little harder, wincing at the impact and swinging with his other arm. He doesn't hear anybody come into the room, but a throat clears behind him and all this being followed around by guys in suits must be getting to him, because he jumps about a mile at the sound.
"You're pulling your punches," the person behind him says, and Spence's heart skips a beat, because he knows that voice. He turns around slowly, dropping his arms to his sides and blinking to make sure he's not just hallucinating. But Lenny's really standing there, hands in his pockets and looking a little...nervous, maybe. His hair's shorter than it was the last time Spence saw him, and he reaches up to run a hand through it while he lets Spence look at him. "When you swing at the bag, you're not hitting it as hard as you can. You pull up instead of following through. If you do that in a fight you're gonna lose."
And he's grinning, but Spence can tell how nervous he is. His own stomach's fluttering like he swallowed a whole swarm of butterflies, so he knows the feeling. Then Lenny takes a few steps forward and the fluttering gets so bad he's sure Lenny will hear it. "I can show you, if you want."
Spence is nodding like an idiot, not so much because he cares about his boxing form, but because it's Lenny and he's here, somehow, and the truth is that Spence was starting to think he was dead. But he's alive, and he's standing in front of Spence holding his hands up in front of him. "Hit me," he says, nodding toward his palm. "As hard as you can."
"Hit you?"
"Yeah," Lenny says, and this has to be the weirdest reunion in history, because they haven't seen each other in three months, and so far neither of them has even said 'hi'. "I owe you at least one free shot, right?"
"No," Spence answers, shaking his head because Lenny took a bullet for him, and as far as Spence is concerned, they're even. "You don't," he adds, and then he's moving forward, pushing Lenny's hands out of the way to wrap his arms around Lenny's shoulders. It takes a second or two for Lenny to catch up with him, but before long arms slide around Spence's back to pull him even closer. And it's the first time he's ever hugged Lenny, but it feels so right that he wonders why they didn't do it a long time ago.
"Where have you been?" Spence asks, whispering the question into Lenny's hair. "I kept asking Carver, but he wouldn't talk. I thought..."
His arms tighten reflexively around Lenny, and he half expects Lenny to push him away and call him a fag, but he doesn't. Instead he hugs Spence even closer, face turned into his neck so that when he answers, Spence can feel the words against his skin.
"They stuck me in juvie for awhile, but the guys who killed your parents found out I was there, so Carver shipped me to a safehouse in Florida. I just got back tonight."
Spence does pull back then to look at Lenny, reaching up to run a hand over Lenny's short hair. And he knows he's being kind of a girl, but he doesn't even care if Lenny laughs at him. "How'd you get in here? Those goons outside..."
"I told Carver I wasn't testifying unless he let me see you. I guess he figures you're safe with me, more or less." Lenny grins, some of the old mischief back in his eyes and it makes Spence's heart skip a beat.
"I'll take my chances," Spence says, swaying a little closer to Lenny. When Lenny doesn't tense or push him away Spence leans in, tilting his head to one side like they do in the movies. Because he doesn't actually know what he's doing or anything, but he knows how he feels, and he figures Lenny will help him figure out the rest. Except their lips barely brush together before Lenny's pulling back, hands on Spence's shoulders to hold him just out of reach.
"I think you should know I'm two years older than you," Lenny says, watching Spence for a reaction, like it matters how old he is. There could be ten years between them and Spence wouldn't care, but the truth is Carver already told him all this stuff anyway. He got the impression at the time that Carver was trying to save him from himself or something, but Spence knows what he's getting into. Well, okay, he doesn't, really, but he knows what he's already lost, and he's not giving up Lenny too.
"My name's not really Spence," he says, grinning when Lenny laughs.
"I'm a high school dropout."
"So you'll get your GED."
"The prison shrink says I have anger management issues," Lenny says, and Spence wants to ask how long they made him see a shrink, or maybe what it was like in juvie, but more than anything he wants Lenny to shut up and kiss him.
"I have post traumatic stress disorder," he counters, which probably isn't actually true, but it's all just a bunch of psychobabble anyway.
"I really missed you," Lenny answers, his grip on Spence's shoulders loosening, and Spence takes the opportunity to sway forward again.
"Good," he whispers against Lenny's mouth, and this time Lenny leans into the kiss.
~
They share a hotel room pretty much every time the team travels, but it's not often they get to enjoy it. Not that the rooms they usually stay in are worth enjoying, but every once in awhile they get lucky. This one's not much to write home about; the beds aren't all that comfortable, and squeezing into a double together when they could be sharing a king if his father wasn't such a prude is always a little depressing. There's no view to speak of, unless you have a thing for brick, and he's pretty sure the wallpaper is going to give him a seizure. But the bathroom...that's a different story. Not that there's anything particularly nice about it, but the bathtub's huge, and there's a bottle of bubble bath left behind by some past guest just sitting on the edge, beckoning him.
It's been a long, exhausting day, the kind where Dorna stays one step ahead of them the whole time and they almost get themselves killed for nothing. Which wasn't Nikko's fault, for once, so at least Cal's not mad at him. What he is is dead on his feet, and Nikko lets him sprawl fully clothed on the bed while he heads to the bathroom to draw a bath.
He lets the water run until it's as hot as he can stand, then puts the stopper in the tub and watches it start to fill up. He tilts the bottle of bubble bath under the faucet, pouring way more than the recommended capful. Which, come on, is never enough for a decent amount of bubbles, so he's not sure who's making these recommendations. Not a bath connoisseur, that much is obvious.
When the tub's half full of foamy water he heads back to the bedroom, kicking off his shoes and tugging his t-shirt over his head before he stops next to the bed where Cal's sprawled. "Hey," he says, reaching out to push unruly hair off Cal's forehead. "Come on, I know exactly what you need."
"Can't," Cal mumbles, but he's not asleep yet, so that's a victory already. "I'm too beat to move."
"Trust me, it'll be worth it," Nikko says, but he lets Cal stay put long enough to move to the end of the bed and pull off his shoes. He tugs Cal's socks off next, then reaches for the button of his jeans.
"Nikko, seriously, I can't," Cal says, eyes open now to look up at him. His hands come down to cover Nikko's, pulling them gently away from his jeans. "I'm too tired to get it up, man."
Nikko smiles at that, thinks about making a crack about Cal's age, but decides against it. "No sex," he says instead, leaning over Cal to plant a chaste kiss on his lips. "Trust me, you'll like this. And you don't have to do anything but take off your clothes."
Cal grumbles some more when Nikko pulls him off the bed, but when they reach the bathroom and he sees what Nikko has in mind, he lets Nikko undress them both. When he's naked he climbs over the edge of the tub, hissing as the almost too-hot water touches his skin and sinking down until he's covered by a mountain of bubbles.
"What'd you do, use the whole bottle?" he says, but his eyes are already closed and he's leaning back against the warm porcelain. Nikko grins at the sight and unbuttons his pants, kicking them off before he slides his boxers down to join them. And he's not too tired to get it up, but he's willing to ignore his own need if it means helping Cal feel a little better.
"Sit up," he demands, nudging Cal forward until there's enough space for Nikko to slide in behind him. As soon as he's in the water Cal leans back against him, back pressed against Nikko's chest and his hair tickling Nikko's chin. Nikko grins and wraps his arms around Cal's chest, fingers moving in slow circles on wet skin.
"See?" he says when Cal shifts against him, letting out a contented little sigh. "Much better than passing out in your clothes."
"Mmm," Cal hums, lifting one hand to slide it along Nikko's arm where it's resting against his chest. "We should really do this more often."
They both know why they don't; there's the time problem, for one thing, and the fact that they're usually too busy trying not to get killed to worry about romance. But it's worth the effort, and Nikko makes a mental note to try a little harder from now on. They might have fifty more years, or they might only have a few before the world comes crashing down around them. They still haven't worked out what 'End of Days' means, exactly, and they're not taking for granted that they'll figure it out before it's too late. But either way, they've got the rest of their lives together, and Nikko's not going to waste a second of it.
"Yeah," he says, leaning in to press a kiss to the top of Cal's shoulder. "We should."
~
At the end of the world, I am still a hopeless romantic. Pathetic. I am blaming the approach of Valentine's Day on the level of sap in these, but the truth is that's just how I roll. Like you didn't know that already.
Speaking of comment fics, I think I am going to take a break from the rest of those requests and write some other stuff that's rattling around in my head. I thank you kindly for the help in getting me over my little block, though, and if you really had your heart set on something you can feel free to nudge me about it.
ETA: This has been the most boring day EVER. What's up with that, friends list? And I'm probably going to die in a tornado on my way home, if 5:00 ever gets here, which I am starting to doubt.